The wound on Ganesh's side healed quickly.
The weight in his heart did not.
For days after the raid, he moved through the hermitage like a shadow. He rose before dawn, stood in the cold river, chanted with the others, trained until sweat soaked his robes. Outwardly, nothing had changed.
Yet inside, he felt as though he were already walking somewhere else.
Whispers followed him now without shame.
"He disobeyed the sage."
"He rushed into battle again."
"He will bring danger here."
Some still greeted him warmly. Others kept their distance. A few looked at him with something close to fear.
Ganesh did not argue.
In a way, he felt they were right.
One afternoon, Varun confronted him near the training ground.
"You think you're above our ways now?" Varun asked, arms crossed. "That you can choose when to obey and when not to?"
Ganesh met his gaze calmly. "No. I think I can't pretend not to hear what calls me."
"And what of Gurudev's call?" Varun shot back. "Does that matter less?"
Ganesh hesitated. "It matters more than anything. That's why this hurts."
Varun scoffed. "You talk in riddles now. Once, you were simple. Now you're dangerous."
The word struck like a blade.
"I don't want to be dangerous," Ganesh said quietly. "I just don't want to turn away."
Varun shook his head and walked off.
Ganesh stood alone, fists clenched, wondering when being honest had begun to feel like betrayal.
That evening, Maharshi Agnivrat called him again.
They sat by the sacred fire as always, but tonight the flames felt harsher, their light sharper.
"People are unsettled," the sage said. "Not because you fought raiders, but because you no longer fit the shape they understand."
Ganesh lowered his head. "I never wanted to disturb this place."
"I know," Agnivrat replied. "But growth does not ask permission."
Ganesh swallowed. "Then tell me, Gurudev. Should I stay? Or should I go?"
The question hung between them like a blade.
Agnivrat closed his eyes for a long moment.
"When you first came here," the sage said, "you were a spark. The forest and fire gave you form. Discipline gave you strength. Compassion gave you depth."
He opened his eyes and looked directly at Ganesh.
"Now, you are becoming a flame that cannot be contained within these walls."
Ganesh's breath caught. "So… you want me to leave."
"I want you to be honest," Agnivrat replied gently. "If staying means denying the path that burns inside you, then staying will turn to bitterness. And bitterness will poison everything you touch."
Tears welled in Ganesh's eyes. "I'm afraid, Gurudev."
"So was I, when I left my own teacher," Agnivrat said softly. "Fear does not mean the path is wrong. It means the path is real."
Ganesh bowed his head to the earth.
"I don't know where to go," he whispered.
"You don't need to," Agnivrat replied. "Only know why you walk."
That night, Ganesh wandered to the edge of the hermitage again.
The forest stretched before him, dark and endless. The same place where, not long ago, he had stepped beyond the boundary and returned.
This time, he did not step back at once.
He stood there, feeling the pull of two worlds.
Behind him lay shelter, discipline, a life shaped by routine and guidance.
Before him lay uncertainty, danger, and a road that promised no rest.
What am I without this place? he wondered.
Then another thought rose:
What will I become if I never leave it?
The answer frightened him more.
At dawn, a new messenger arrived.
This one brought word that the devas who had taken the prisoners were now searching for the asura camp deeper in the forest. There were rumors of retaliation. Of blood.
Ganesh felt the old fire stir in his chest.
He went at once to Agnivrat.
"They are going to fight again," he said. "I can feel it. If I stay here, I will only hear of it after it's too late."
Agnivrat looked at him steadily. "And if you go?"
"Then I may die," Ganesh replied. "Or I may fail. But I won't be standing still while others burn."
The sage nodded slowly.
"So the call has spoken clearly now."
Ganesh bowed. "Yes, Gurudev."
They stood in silence.
Then Agnivrat placed both hands on Ganesh's shoulders.
"Then go," he said. "Not as one who runs from this place… but as one who carries it within him."
Ganesh's eyes filled with tears. "Will I be allowed to return?"
Agnivrat smiled sadly. "That is not for me to decide. The road will answer that."
The disciples gathered as word spread.
Some looked away.
Some bowed.
A few, like Varun, stood stiff and silent.
Ganesh moved among them, offering quiet farewells. He did not defend himself. He did not explain.
When he reached Varun, he stopped.
"I never wanted to stand apart from you," Ganesh said.
Varun hesitated, then sighed. "I know. Just… don't become what they fear you are."
Ganesh nodded. "I'll try."
At last, he returned to Agnivrat.
He prostrated fully at his guru's feet.
"You gave me everything I am," Ganesh said. "Whatever I become from here, it will be because of you."
Agnivrat placed a hand on his head.
"Remember," he said, "strength without stillness becomes cruelty. Stillness without strength becomes escape. Hold both as one."
"I will," Ganesh promised.
He rose, shouldered his simple bundle, and turned toward the forest.
As he took his first steps away, the hermitage behind him grew quiet.
No bells rang.
No conch sounded.
Only the rustle of leaves marked his departure.
Each step felt heavier than the last, yet also lighter.
He did not know where the road would lead.
He only knew he could no longer remain.
Far beyond mortal sight, Shiva watched the boy leave the shelter of his first world.
"Now the wandering begins," the Lord murmured.
"Soon he will be lost… and only then will he be ready to find me."
Ganesh walked on, tears drying on his cheeks, heart burning with fear and resolve.
He had left the hermitage.
But the true journey had only just begun.